


The Body Guard

by semaphoredrivethru



Series: Dirty Rotten Scoundrels [1]
Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF
Genre: AU, M/M, Spies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-29
Updated: 2011-09-29
Packaged: 2017-10-24 03:43:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/258577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/semaphoredrivethru/pseuds/semaphoredrivethru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael Fassbender is a powerful man with powerful enemies. He asked the agency for the best they had. They sent him James McAvoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Body Guard

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a throw away comment fic inspired by [this](http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lns1xhETcX1qhg219o1_500.jpg) and [this](http://26.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lnj2puWDBZ1ql3d8no1_400.jpg). Instead, I keep finding myself drawn to them. Will update with hot and fresh ficlettes as they happen.
> 
> Hey Ma, look, I'm using my AO3 account!

"I told the agency to send me the best they had." Michael frowned at the man sitting across the room from him. "Not some male model on a power trip."

"I am the best." He was young, wearing trousers just tight enough to keep drawing Michael's eyes lower than they really should have gone, considering he was about to fire the kid. "Do you think the gun's just an accessory?"

Michael said nothing, just leaned back in his leather chair and ran a finger crosswise down his mouth. He was a busy man, a powerful man with powerful enemies, and he didn't have the time to waste on banter.

The kid looked unimpressed. "I'm fluent in Spanish, Russian, and Italian. I've a black belt in three forms of martial arts, and trained with Israeli sharpshooters for my firearms qualifications. I can dismantle nearly any explosive device out there, only sleep four hours a night, and for fun, I like to hack into computer systems on my lunch break. You asked for the best, Mr. Fassbender; you got it."

Michael blinked, slowly, and leaned forward, chin on his hand. "So it would seem, Mr...?"

"McAvoy. James McAvoy."

There was something familiar about the name, and it took a few seconds for Michael to make the connection. In all fairness, though, the trousers _were_ rather distracting.

"The youngest MI-6 agent to take retirement voluntarily and not have it be a euphemism for an anonymous funeral." His eyes slid down to McAvoy's thighs, his groin, taking their time in traveling back up to his face where they belonged (though not without a detour to check out the width and breadth of McAvoy's shoulders first, either) "You've quite the checkered reputation, Mr. McAvoy. Is it all to be believed?"

"I think, sir, you can call me James." McAvoy laughed, and it was the knowing laugh of a man that's caught another out. McAvoy knew what Michael was thinking, knew Michael's heard the rumors about the inappropriate sexual conquests that had been the norm -- rather than the exception -- for him in his brief, yet (otherwise) sterling career at 6. "And I think we'll need to renegotiate my contract, if you're looking for someone to watch your body that... closely."


End file.
